


"Maybe a Christmas miracle, Louis."

by those_forgotten



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 07:16:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/those_forgotten/pseuds/those_forgotten
Summary: I wrote this 4 years ago so sorry it's extremely dated but it is Christmas themed!!! and cute!!! hope u enjoy





	"Maybe a Christmas miracle, Louis."

It wasn’t even so much that Louis had a crush on the choirboy. As he had told himself several times since that chilly day in November, it was purely in the band’s best interest that he spoke to Harry for the first time. 

It was now, walking boldly to Harry’s house with his mediocrely wrapped Christmas gift clutched to his shivering body, that he recalled their first conversation – the reason for all this, that is. 

His mother had sent him to St. John’s Church with forms for Lottie’s upcoming Confirmation – forms due at least a week ago, and that you will absolutely bring right now, Louis William Tomlinson! Because Lottie was at a friend’s house and evidently her spiritual upbringing was being left to Louis. Then again he was her sponsor. He supposed he ought to be setting a better example as the shepherd of his flock. 

And so, chin tucked into the collar of his too-old jacket (a new one was on the top of his Christmas list this year) and hands jammed into his pockets, he set out on foot to the church as it wasn’t a far walk, and he needed to clear his head. There’d been nothing but turmoil following his life lately it seemed, between The Rogue’s inability to land a gig, and Fizzy’s constant teenage arguments with their mother, and Louis’ failure to keep up a passing grade in the majority of his classes. 

He wanted to do something for his mother, because too often he’d found her fallen asleep on folded arms at the kitchen table, bills scattered around her. She still woke him up with a tender smile every morning, even when he was going to be late for his first class, and kissed him on the cheek when he came home, even when he smelled of cigarette smoke. He didn’t mean to be such a trouble – he certainly didn’t want to be one – and yet he couldn’t seem to find a source of goodness in his life. No “father figure”, no best friend to keep him on track – unless you counted Zayn, who occasionally spouted wise words as they got high – and honestly nothing really going for him. 

So it was a possibility that going to the church that day was about more than dropping off some forms. 

Pulling the heavy wooden doors open – honestly, how are little old priests supposed to open these – he was met with the strains of Christmas carols, drifting through the warm church all the way to the back where he stood, frozen. Not wanting to disturb the choir rehearsals – not out of any moral inclinations, but because Mr. Browning was a frigid man who took nothing more seriously than his choir – he slipped quietly towards the parish office in the wings. 

The music was quite lovely, though he wouldn’t ever admit it. Being in what he and his mates considered a rock band, the church concert choir was hardly worthy of attention, let alone praise by musicians as cool as they were. 

Having turned in the forms, succeeding with a charming smile and a promise it wouldn’t happen again with his other three sisters, Louis was turning to go when a voice cut above the rest, sending vibrations through the entire building. It was a baritone, with a scratchiness one might not expect in a choir arrangement. Though it was a solo in Silent Night, Louis couldn’t help but imagine what that voice might do given something edgier. 

It was exactly what The Rogue was missing – a real performing voice, raspy and rough and just enough of something different to garner them some paying gig. He’d give it a go; what could his bandmates say, really, about this choirboy when he could sing like that?

So he sat himself in a pew near the back and waited quietly, watching the boy intently. Even from this far away, Louis could see he had curls, and bright eyes, and a practically pink mouth that shaped beautifully when he sang. When the solo was finished, though Louis was sure it wasn’t protocol, he stood and clapped loudly – the only one in the church besides the choir. 

The entire group of boys turned to him, and Louis told himself not to squirm under the judgmental gaze of twenty-three undersized bowl-cut fifteen-year-old boys. The soloist blushed deeply and stared at his music, but Louis could see the smile on his face. And was that a dimple?

But it was Mr. Browning that was still watching him. As the boys whispered animatedly amongst themselves, nudging Harry and giggling, he quieted them sharply and strode towards Louis. He was halfway down the aisle when he stopped, pointing a finger at Louis. 

“Mr. Tomlinson. Have you anything to say for yourself, disrupting my choir rehearsal, distracting my singers, and making a mockery of this arrangement? Because of you, Mr. Styles has lost his pitch!” And Louis tried; really he did, not to laugh, but what? 

But only a giggle escaped him before he stopped himself. “Sir, I hope you don’t mind, but I just wanted to hear some Christmas music to get me in the spirit. And ‘Mr. Styles’ seems to have his pitch just fine, if I do say so myself. And I should know, as I am in a band.” And he smirked just a bit, giving an exaggerated wink to the soloist. 

The whispers started up again, because here was Louis Tomlinson, he’s a Year 11, yeah he’s in that band, he came to our rehearsal, I wonder if he knows my name. But Louis had eyes only for Mr. Styles, who had glanced up again, face still red, but now practically shining with praise, because Louis Tomlinson just complimented me. 

Mr. Browning glared back at his choir, and they fell silent, before turning his steely gaze to Louis. “Well, Mr. Tomlinson, if you should so please to spend your time listening to our rehearsals, I must demand your unobtrusiveness.” 

“It’s my middle name, sir.” 

Mr. Browning sighed and turned away. “From the top, Ms. Richards,” and the organist started the familiar tune of Silent Night again. For the remainder of the rehearsal, Louis sat quietly and studied the stained glass windows around him. The carols floated over his ears, and the warmth of the church closed around him. 

He’d been so content and relaxed that when he awoke with a start some time later, he realized the rehearsal was over. Had he waited all this time and missed his chance? He stood up quickly, looking all around him, disoriented and groggy. All the boys were gone, and Mr. Browning was nowhere to be seen. Louis cursed under his breath before remembering he was in a church, and he quickly apologized to no one in particular. 

He sighed then, deciding it wasn’t even worth it. He didn’t even know this kid; how could he just ask him to join his band anyway? He turned back to the door and was about to step into the wintry air when he heard a terrific bang. 

Glancing around him, he saw a boy near the front of the church frantically picking up scattered music books, scores of sheet music fanned around him. Stepping closer, Louis couldn’t believe his luck. For who should this clumsy, wonderful boy be but the soloist?

He hurried forward to help the boy by the altar, whose face again turned red upon seeing Louis. It was quite a pretty blush, but Louis hated to imagine that he was always this self-conscious. 

“Oops,” he said sheepishly as Louis came closer. “Er, sorry, I didn’t mean to – “ 

“Hi,” Louis said softly, “Mate, it’s all right.” 

“I’ll have it cleaned up in just a minute, I’m just such an idiot sometimes – “ Louis laid his hand over the boy’s frenzied, trembling one. “Really, relax,” he said. 

The boy finally met his eyes, and Louis saw now they were a bright green – it was like he was a Christmas fairy, between his snowy skin, his candied lips and his brilliant eyes. He looked away quickly, but not before Louis caught sight of a small smile. 

“There you go,” he said softly, poking at his dimple lightly. Together they managed to pick up the rest of the books and set them back in the heavy box he’d been carrying. 

“I’m Louis,” he finally introduced himself, sticking out his hand. The boy, ever the graceful, tried to balance the box on one arm as he proffered the other – the wrong hand, Louis might point out – and Louis had to dart forward to grab the box before it fell again. 

“’M Harry,” he finally managed, grinning from over the top of the box. 

“Right. Harry. Well, Harry, I have a proposition to make you.” Does that have a different connotation than ‘offer’? If it did, Harry didn’t react. “I – “ 

“Sorry, Louis, but I really have to get these to Ms. Richards’ car, but it was – “ 

“I’ll walk with you!” So they went merrily on their way – at least Louis did, skipping down the aisle to open the door for Harry, and jumping across the ice-covered carport to avoid the slipperiest bits. Harry, had it not been for Louis screaming at him to Step over there, Harold! No, no that’s black ice, mate!, most certainly would have fallen and cracked his head right then and there, with only a no-good back-up singer and a pile of music books as witness. 

Needless to say, there wasn’t much conversation passed between the two as they made it to the car, and it wasn’t until they were heading back into the church that Louis broached the subject. 

“Now, Harry, as you may know, I am in a band called The Rogue. Heard of it?” Harry nodded, because popular as they weren’t for paying gigs, everyone at school knew of them. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if you said you hadn’t, because quite honestly, we’re bad. Dreadful. We need a voice. A voice, perhaps, like yours.” 

And then Harry looked up sharply, sucking in a breath. His eyes darted over to Louis’, as if checking if he were being serious. 

“Mine? I – I mean, I’m not even a real singer, I just – you can’t possibly mean me, you must have heard Tony Isaacs singing, or Mark – he’s got a great voice. But not me.” 

Louis huffed out a breath and hushed him, holding Harry lightly by the shoulders so he was forced to meet his eyes. 

“Harry. I swear, you’re just what we need. I know you’re younger – what, sixteen? – but the lads, they’re really good guys. You’d charm their socks off if they don’t hear your voice first. Come on, Harry, what’s the worst that could happen? Just come to one rehearsal, hear us out?” 

“Louis, it’s – thank you for the offer, but I can’t. I definitely can’t go and join a band, my mum would have a fit. And you’re Year 11, I couldn’t ever – no. I can’t.” Louis looked at him intently for a few moments, trying to gauge the situation. 

“I’m telling you, Harry, those guys – they’re great kids. I can’t vouch for myself, but – “ He laughed weakly. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’ll – blimey, I’ll meet your mum if that would help!” He held Harry’s eyes earnestly, looking for some glimmer of hope, because maybe he was a little desperate to have Harry, and not just for the band. 

Harry laughed softly, but slipped away from Louis’ grasp. “I’m sorry, Louis. This choir is really important to my mum – and me. If something were to happen that ruined the concert in December – my mum could never forgive me. I can’t, I’m sorry.” 

Louis let his hand fall from Harry’s shoulder, stuffing it back into his pocket. “Right. Not even a glimmer of a chance, after the concert then? Maybe your mother will undergo a phenomenal change of heart?”

Harry was turning away, a goodbye on his lips. But he stopped, because the look on Louis’ face (his whole heart, it seemed, in those blue eyes) cut to his core. He knew Louis had problems. Everyone knew that he lived in one of the worst parts of Doncaster, far from Harry’s townhouse, and that he had to work two jobs to help support his family. That his frequent altercations at school usually stemmed from his explosive personality. 

Yet here he was, begging a sixteen-year-old nothing like Harry to join his band. And Harry had a feeling it had more to do with than just his voice. He walked a few steps away, carefully placing his feet to avoid the ice. 

But hearing Louis’ soft sigh, like the coo of a dove lying in its final resting place, he turned around. “Maybe a Christmas miracle, Louis.”

_________________________________

Those words had remained in Louis’ head for the remainder of November, and all the way up to Christmas. A Christmas miracle was all he needed, and all he was counting on. For all of the holiday season Louis had been on his best behavior at school, trying to show Harry what a good kid he could be. Every Wednesday and Thursday he walked Harry to the church for rehearsal, and some days he even stayed the whole two hours, and went with Harry until he came to his bus stop. 

At first it came as a shock to Harry, seeing a Year 11 waiting for him outside the school, snuffing out a cigarette as he walked over, smiling bright and crinkly-eyed as he raised a hand in greeting. Yet after the initial surprise, he seemed to settle into an easy rhythm with Louis, because something was just easy about them. 

Louis came to know this boy, a goofy, awkward thing of sixteen, who had grown too much in a year to know what to do with himself. His jokes were painful at best, but Louis found himself laughing at them anyway because something about Harry made him inexplicably happy. Over a month and a half, Harry and Louis became friends, meeting each other’s families, learning how each other took their tea, getting to know their laughs and frowns, what made them smile and scoff. 

And Louis learned that perhaps Harry simply being his friend was a miracle enough – because what part of Louis, a boy set on a path of self-destruction, could possibly attract such a pure creature like Harry? He decided he would be just fine even if Harry didn’t join his band after the concert, so long as he still had him in his life. 

That didn’t mean he was giving up just yet. 

All this work at being good (his littlest sisters thought it was for Father Christmas) would pay off, he was sure. And he would find out for himself today, the day before Christmas Eve. The concert – which Louis had attended, dragging his four sisters along with him (though Lottie was happy to go, there was some boy she fancied singing) – had passed without a hitch the night before, and Louis knew there was no reason that Harry could refuse him now. 

Huffing against the winter wind, Louis marched ahead down the lamp-lit street bordered by houses illuminated with twinkling lights, throwing a soft glow onto the sidewalk. It was snowing lightly, and Louis hoped for a white Christmas – just to top off his miracle. 

He came to Harry’s familiar door, a wreath hanging upon it. He took a deep breath, steeling himself before knocking. He wasn’t sure why he felt so nervous all of a sudden, his breath coming out in short puffs of smoke into the cold air. It was a few moments before anyone came to the door, and Louis feared they might not even be home, gone for the holidays – though Harry hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort. 

Finally, Harry’s sister arrived, pulling the door open breathlessly, before her face fell into a smile upon seeing Louis. “Hi, happy Christmas! Come in, come in, Harry’s just finishing something up upstairs; I’ll make you some tea. It’s bloody freezing out.”

Louis stepped in gratefully, stamping the snow off the bottom of his shoes onto the mat before slipping them off and following Gemma into the kitchen. “Is that for him?” She asked, pointing with her chin at the small wrapped square in Louis’ hands as she bustled around setting the water to boil and fetching Christmas biscuits. 

“Yeah, just a little nothing,” he said sheepishly, turning it over in his hands, hoping he didn’t seem silly now. She smiled softly as she set a plate in front of him. 

“That’s really nice, Louis. I don’t mean to spoil a surprise, but I think he’s got something for you, too. I wanted to thank you, by the way, and I don’t mean to make this weird or anything,” she said as she turned to meet eyes with Louis, “Thanks for being such a friend to him. He hasn’t had many, and I know it’s hard on him. The choirboys aren’t much but a bunch of pretentious blokes, but you, you’re different. You mean a lot to him. So, thanks.” 

Louis struggled to say something of any legitimate response, but he was suddenly feeling very warm – he blamed it on the cozy kitchen – and so instead he managed with a quiet, “It’s nothing, really,” and blushing into his sleeve. Just in time, Harry appeared at the door to the kitchen, in a soft-looking jumper and sweatpants. Gemma winked at Louis, placing a mug in front of him and heading out. She ruffled her brother’s curls and called back a merry Christmas to Louis once more before leaving. 

“Hey, Lou,” Harry said, coming to sit at the table with him and snatching a biscuit off the plate. “How’s it going?” Louis wasn’t sure why he was suddenly so unable to form words, so he took a sip of his tea to buy himself some time – burning his tongue and leaving him coughing for another fifteen seconds. 

“Right, yeah. Good,” he finally choked out after Harry had fetched him a cup of water.   
“Good. I’m actually quite glad you came around,” and now Harry was fumbling over his words, nervously fiddling his hands and glancing at Louis sideways. 

“You see, we’re going off to my gran’s tomorrow, and I’m really sorry, but I won’t get to see you on your birthday – “ 

“You know my birthday’s tomorrow?” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course I do, Lou. The big one-nine. And so it’s been tearing me up that I won’t be with you, but I had a gift anyway, and . . .” And at this, Harry procured a rectangular, very precisely-wrapped gift, with birthday wrapping paper but a Christmas bow. Louis looked at it for a second, marveling at more than the wrapping. Here was Harry, having known him for just over a month, already offering him gifts and love that Louis’ friends of several years never had. 

“Well, go on, mate,” Harry prompted, pushing the present into Louis’ hands. Louis tore at the wrapping, revealing a small box. He opened that up, and inside was a CD and two pieces of paper. Reading the handwritten label on the disc – Leeds 2011 – and studying the papers, Louis began to understand the gift. 

Two tickets to a music festival! Looking at the tracklist for the CD, Louis saw artists that he knew would be playing this summer – and at the bottom, the “bonus track”, Louis saw his own band. He looked at it, confused a moment, before understanding. 

“Obviously, The Rogue isn’t playing, but I thought I’d – I wanted to tell you in a special way that I would join, Lou, and – I hope you like the gift, it’s a long time away, but – “ 

Louis attacked Harry with such a suffocating hug that he stopped talking. His arms fell around Louis as they seemed to be built to do, hands patting at his back and chin tucking into the crook of his shoulder. When Louis felt as if he’d gotten across just how thankful he was – not being the best with words – he reached behind him for Harry’s present. 

“Your turn,” he said, smiling cheekily. 

Harry took the present, choosing to say nothing about the wrapping which was about as good as his own – torn up, that is. He unwrapped it carefully, revealing a tiny box. “I’m not proposing, I promise,” Louis joked softly. Harry smiled, and lifted the lid. Inside, glistening in its bed, was a silver chain with a delicate paper airplane at the end of it. “It’s a necklace,” Louis said quickly, craning over Harry’s shoulder to gauge his response.

“’An airplane, coz your voice – I dunno, it soars?” he stammered, already half-regretting the sentimental nature of his gift. Harry’s face just about broke in two, and Louis felt pretty certain he could start a housing development in a dimple of that size. 

“It’s – beautiful, Lou. Perfect. It’s so lovely.” Harry pulled it out so quickly Louis feared he would break it, offering it to Louis to attach around his neck. Louis fastened it, settling the chain over his warm skin. The airplane hung just below his collarbones, brushing the top of his jumper. 

“Thank you so much, Louis. I – can’t even say how much it means to me. I’ll always wear it,” and the smile alone was enough for Louis, if he would just wear that smile for the rest of time. 

“You’re welcome, Harry.” For a moment they just stood smiling at each other, admiring their gifts, before Louis realized he really ought to get home. 

Harry walked him to the door, standing quietly as he pulled on his shoes and adjusted his coat. He opened the door for him and stood on the steps as Louis prepared to step into the cold. The snow had fallen soft and deep while Louis had been inside, and they both watched it for a moment, the peace of it. 

“That’s a miracle in itself, isn’t it?” Harry asked softly, gazing at the snow. Louis couldn’t help but gaze at Harry. He stepped forward slowly, feeling the snow brush his eyelashes and cheeks and lips. He let his hand fall onto Harry’s cheek, running it over his tinged skin, leaning forward, forward . . . 

It was a sweet kiss, a soft one, the kind saved for under mistletoe and in the falling snow and for a first love. The kind for a love like theirs in the miracle of Christmas. 

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” he said, pulling back and resting his eyes on Harry’s green ones, soft and bright. 

“Merry Christmas, Lou.”


End file.
